


Volume 1--Thor's Origin

by LeoCharlesM



Series: Marvel's Avengers INFINITIES: Earth-6116 [1]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Earth-6116, Original Work, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Gen, Marvel Comics - Freeform, Marvel Earth-6116 - Freeform, Original Fiction, Series, Thor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoCharlesM/pseuds/LeoCharlesM
Summary: Welcome to Earth-6116, a special dimension in the Marvel Multiverse that is just like our world: There are no superheroes, nor super villains to oppose them. The Watcher guarding this peaceful world, Nan'c, has a vision of a menacing doom approaching from the farthest regions of the cosmos. The Earth will need the Avengers if there is any hope of survival.The first story is the origin of Donald Blake and his journey from disgraced all-pro NFL star to the mighty and worthy Thor Odinson.
Series: Marvel's Avengers INFINITIES: Earth-6116 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579216
Kudos: 1





	1. Missing Valuable Player

> " _Al, I don' know about you, but I can't remember a time I've ever seen Donny Blake look worse in a game_."
> 
> " _It's the Super Bowl, Tim, how can you explain the lack of hunger, the lack of fire? Just no will to win. Such a disappointment._ "
> 
> " _Such a disappointment_ …"

Blake exits the shower and punches the tv screen to turn it off. It splinters where his fist lands. Jagged, splinter lines chase thru the image of his own face under the banner on ESPN: "MVP—Missing Valuable Player."

_Half a tackle, no sacks, one pass defended, and lost the biggest game of my life._

"Are you okay there, Mr. Blake?" A security guard asks from the hallway with his arms crossed.

"Fine, thanks." He just wants to get out of this stadium, out of this city, out of this whole damned state, as soon as possible. _Is that so much to ask?_

"Good to hear," the security guard continues. "If you need me, I'll be here wondering how to make my mortgage payment." His tongue makes a smacking sound across his teeth before he goes.

_Eyes down, headphones on, don't talk to anyone till you're home._ The public relations training is kicking in, but it's not easy.

He cleans out his locker, ignores the press entirely, and puts on a pair of sunglasses before heading for the exit.

New Jersey is blanketed in icy snow outside Metlife Stadium. Not to be outdone by the climate, the paparazzi pack in so tight it's impossible to make a line through. Security has to fight them off like vultures feasting on a carcass.

"Newark International," Blake says from the back of the town car.

"Yes sir, Mr. Blake," the driver responds quickly. "Great game, sir. I mean, not like that—I'm sorry. I just mean, I've been an L.A. fan my whole life and I never thought I'd see the day they'd win it all."

If the window partition didn't close faster, Blake would jump out into traffic. He finds a bottle of vodka and some ice close at hand. It would have to do until he gets to the airport. His agent booked him the quickest flight back to the west coast possible, before even his team would be travelling. All he has to do is make his flight and he's free.

It is bumper-to-bumper from the stadium parking lot to airport drop-off. He only just barely catches his flight at all, arriving as the final boarding party is just finishing up. He breathes a sigh of relief and watches as an elderly man walks up to the ticket counter before him. In a minute he'll be sipping champagne, watching a few episodes of The Office and relaxing on his way back home.

"Someone call a doctor," Blake hears someone shout. His head snaps around to find the old man is laying on the ground. He's clutching his chest and wheezing, his eyes are barely open. "I have security on their way now. Back up everybody, let's give this gentleman some breathing room."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Blake erupts. "Can I please just go through? I have a first class ticket, and I just want to get as far away from this damned city as possible."

"Is there a problem here?" A voice asks from close behind.

Blake removes his headphones and turns to see two police officers standing with their hands on their holsters. "I'm sorry officers, there seems to be a mistake. I didn't mean anything…"

"Is that Donny Blake?" Some stupid kid already has his cell phone out. "Yeah that is him. Hey, good game tonight, Donny. Gotta be happy they finish voting for the MVP before the Super Bowl, right?"

And that is the last straw.

Blake lunges for the kid and knocks his phone from his hands. The cops have seen enough and put Blake in cuffs before things go further. There is no doubt that it would be all over TMZ before the night is over.

_This has got to be the worst day of my life._

Three hours of interrogations, apologies and phone calls to agents, lawyers and publicists, come and go before he's finally able to book a private charter plane out of dodge.

#

"Mr. Blake, would you like me to take your headphones for you?"

The flight attendant seems nice enough, but Blake declines. "I just want to sleep this night off, thanks." Blake pulls up his hood and makes himself comfortable.

It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep, but at some point he's forced awake by a violent shaking. The whole cabin is rattling around him. Engines whining and whirring so loud that he can't hear his music anymore; his heart flutters as his breathing cuts short.

"Crew and passengers, buckle up for severe turbulence." The captain sounds curt, almost panicked. Maybe Blake is imagining it…

A huge lift and drop almost makes Blake spill out over his safety belt. He imagines that the flight attendant is walking over to him through the mayhem, but that couldn't be right. There's a heavy thud that makes him duck his head. When he looks up again, the woman is standing at his side, frowning at him.

Her eyes look as though she can see right through him. She doesn't seem to have any trouble balancing even though the turbulence has only gotten worse. It's impossible, yet happening.

He tries to say something, but can't manage. His throat is dry as sandpaper and hurts as much as if he swallowed some.

"Such a disappointment," she says and it's all Blake can hear.

He shrinks back and covers his ears in fright. "I am so sorry," he says to her, without knowing why.

"You have such potential, but not yet the will to fulfill it."

"How can anyone know what's in another man's heart?" Blake feels like he stepped into a Shakespearean play. Where are these words coming from? And why can't he stop himself? "Surely you don't know me intimately enough to play judge?"

"I do, I will, and I shall."

At that Blake looks around and realizes he's no longer in an airplane. He's not even sitting anymore. He's standing beside his host on a whiff of cloud. Surrounding them is bright, indistinguishable light and a canopy of endless stars overhead. "What is this place?"

"This is my domain," the woman replies. Her face is no longer that of the flight attendant. She is pale and tall, her skin seems to glow and her eyes have no pupils. There is a wisdom etched into her features that appears timeless, or infinite to Blake's perception. "From here I watch, as is my duty."

"Who are you?" Blake stammers, overwhelmed more and more by his host.

"I am Nan'c." Her voice booms as though she wants the entire galaxy to hear her answer. "I am the greatest of my kind. We are the Watchers, and this world, your Earth, is under my guardianship."

"And what do you want with me?" Blake asks with tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

"A worthy leader!" She speaks like a clap of lightning.

"Am I dead?" He drops to his knees and begs. "Forgive me, but I do not know what I have to offer."

"You need only offer me your trust, Donald Blake." The Watcher steps over to him and lifts him back to his feet. "Go, learn, live, and return to me as my champion."

"Hold on, what?" Blake never receives a reply. Instead, Nan'c reaches out and places the tip of her pointer finger on the center of his forehead. 

The moment she lifts her finger from his skin, a shock of energy flows through and paralyzes him. Electricity coils round and round, encasing him in a glowing, pulsating cocoon. The lightning arches through space before sending him plummeting toward a blue and green planet.

#


	2. Waking Mister Waneslowe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald Blake awakens trapped in a body he does not recognize, in a life that's not his own, with a family he's never known.

"Mister Waneslowe, can you hear me?" A voice says from somewhere miles and miles away.

"I can't believe it, he's back." A woman's voice this time. Blake needs to get his eyes open, but can't do much of anything as of yet.

"If you can hear me, move a finger." A third voice this time, younger, male, almost sounds incredulous.

"Who is 'Waneslowe'?" Blake asks, and hears gasps of shock in reply.

"Odin's beard, did he just speak?"

"How's that possible?"

"I haven't a clue."

"What is going on?" Blake asks as he struggles to open his eyes. He can't sit up—why can't he sit up? "Who the—oh my God. Where the hell am I? Who are you people?"

"Calm yourself, Waneslowe, you are fine." A woman peers down at him and smiles warmly. "This is the physicians manor in Wrenheimr."

"Wrenheimr, what does that mean?" Blake struggles to lift his head. He glances to his side and sees his hospital gown seems to be made of burlap or some other crude material. Then he espies his own hands and gasps. "What's wrong with me? Why does my hand look like that?"

"Like what, Father?" A young man speaks, but Blake cannot understand who he's speaking to.

_Not me—he doesn't mean me, right?_ "Like I'm an old man. Wait, what did you call me?"

"What's happening to him?" The man who called him "father" speaks directly to the doctor. "Has he lost all his memories?"

"My name is not Waneslowe," Blake almost shouts. His forces himself to sit upright out of sheer frustration and will.

"Woah—woah," they shout and reach to steady him.

"My name is Blake, Donny Blake, you've probably heard of me. I play defense for the Kansas City Chiefs. I need to call my agent…"

"Fascinating," the male doctor says from the far corner of the room. He appears to be running his fingers over a see-thru computer monitor. He's riveted and doesn't realize he's gotten the whole room's collective attention. "There appears to be no trace of the Demic in his physiology. He's, why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he's completely cured."

"Cured?" Blake repeats and looks around the room again. None of it is familiar, the people, the technology, the décor, even the building materials appeared entirely foreign to him. Not just from a different land, but altogether alien.

"I didn't even know that was possible." The son chimes in.

"It isn't, I mean—" The doctor scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head. "It wasn't possible. Not til now."

"I still don't understand…" Blake tries to ask a question but feels his eyelids grow exceedingly heavy. His head droops and then suddenly he is laying back down.

When he wakes up, he's sitting in a plush chair. He looks around and realizes he's not in the same room he was in before. He shakes his head to get his wits, then looks down at his palms. The cracks and lines in his hands are completely unrecognizable to him. It sends a little jolt of panic through him, which he squelches in his belly.

_How can any of this be happening?_

"Father, you're awake, that's good." A young woman stands in a doorway. He faintly remembers her from before. "You probably have a lot of questions."

"Who are you?" Blake asks and tries to choke back tears. "Is this some kind of nightmare?"

"More like a dream come true," she says as her own tears begin to fall. "You are the first person to ever awaken from the Incision."

"The what?"

"The Incision. It is a medical procedure the Vanir designed for those suffering the Demic."

"Okay slow down, you are throwing a lot of words at me right now that I don't quite…"

"You were dead, do you understand?" The young man from before walks in and places his arm around the woman's waist. "Dead and gone. The Demic is a plague that kills the mind before the body. So the Vanir, our lords and ladies, came up with a way to send the spirits of the afflicted to Valhalla, rather than condemning them to suffer in a rotting corpse."

"And Waneslowe," Blake begins but stops and thinks better of it. "I mean, _I_ had this plague you're talking about?"

"Yes you did."

"But now I don't?"

"That does appear to be what's happened, yes." The young man smiles and takes Blake's hand. "My name is Ulfane, I am your son. This is my wife Bryna, we just found out she is with child. With Freya's blessing we'll have a boy by next harvest."

"I want a daughter, so Freya'll be ignoring his prayers." Bryna laughs and quickly wipes away some tears.

"I'm starting to piece some of this together," Blake says, though deep in thought. "Am I in Scandinavia or something? Are we anywhere near Norway, perhaps?"

"That sounds like Midgard," Ulfane says. "What know you of Midgard, Father?"

"Midgard?"

"Yes, Earth realm."

"Oh, Earth, yes that's what I am talking about. That is where I am from. Why? Are you not from Earth? Is this not Earth?"

"Love, why don't you retrieve the physician?" Bryna says. Ulfane seems unsettled but obeys. "Rest now, Father. No sense getting all worked up."

"I am not your father!" Blake shouts and tries to stand.

"Father, please," Ulfane says as he returns straightaway with the doctor. "For Odin's sake, have some dignity."

"This day has gone all wrong," Bryna whines and fresh tears begin to fall.

"Maybe it would be best if we gave you some privacy, Physician Lin?" Ulfane looks to the doctor as a sprinter awaits the starter's pistol.

The doctor, ever consumed by whatever screen is before his eyes, merely nods them out of the chamber. "Mister Wanselowe, how are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling like a guy stuck in another guy's body, how are you feeling, Doc?"

"Are you experiencing any pain or discomfort in your head?"

"In my head?" Blake thinks for a second, takes a deep breath and sighs. "No. I'm not in any pain. But I'm not comfortable by any means."

"Expand on that please."

"Well, Doc—" Blake says and slaps his hand on the armrest of his chair. "It feels like I just got done with a hundred year long workout session. I'm not sure how to describe it, but it's like being achy beyond the point of exhaustion."

"Ah yes, we have a term for that here on Vanaheim," Lin says with a sideways smile. "We call it 'old age.'"

Blake almost wants to laugh, but another thought stops him. "What is Vanaheim?"

"Why it's the world you're on. Home of the Vanir, one of the Nine Realms in fealty to Odin All-Father, lord of Asgard. You, Waneslowe, have lived here all of your one hundred and fifty years of life. You have never been to Midgard, you have never even met anyone who has."

"So I'm just making it all up? I'm crazy, unwell, is that it?"

"Not at all," Lin frowns. "Quite the opposite, actually. You are healthier than you've been in months, maybe years. You're more animated, you've said more this afternoon than you have since your last birthing day festival, by all accounts you should be praising Odin for your good favor."

"How can I get you to understand that this is not a gift from a benevolent god-king?" He raises his old, wrinkly hands as evidence of his point. "I am trapped in a prison."

"Not hardly," Lin says and turns to face a panel. "Mister Waneslowe, if you do not enjoy the life you've before you, the exit is right out the window. Gravity ought to do the rest, godspeed. You'd be hard pressed to find a real prison with such fair terms."

"Come on, that's not my point."

"Well what is then? You ask me how you're going to make any of us understand what's happened to you—my response is that no one will. We told you that when you first woke up. We need to study you, your mind and physiology, anything and everything we can to find out exactly what happened to you, and how. Until then, I don’t see any way your situation improves by forcing everyone to understand the inexplicable."

"So what are you saying, Doc?"

"I'm saying, no matter what you believe your name is, or what world you call home—you have a life in front of you, a family, with a home and all that comes with it. Would you prove your point and risk all that? Even now, in your condition as Waneslowe?" Lin crosses the room and opens a window with the wave of his hand. It responds the way an automatic door outside a mall would to an approaching customer. "The choice is yours, Mister Blake. Choose well."

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and rating, this is part 2/3 of this origin story. Make sure you check out part 3!


	3. Whosoever is Worthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waneslowe learns the lesson of a lifetime, and takes it with him back to the Watcher, Nan'c. Thor will rise and take possession of the mighty Mjolnir.

"Okay you two," Waneslowe nearly whispers, "it's fourth down, we need a touchdown on this play or we're doing the dishes after supper. Can we do this?"

"Yeah!" Twelve year old Wulfanc, and his younger sister Siggy, cheer as loud as they can. They know how much trouble they get in with Grandpa Waneslowe when they don't shout their hardest.

"Which one of you wants to go deep?" He asks them, spinning the pigskin in his palm while glancing up at the defense. Mom and Dad—Ulfane and Bryna—have their arms spread wide and pace side-to-side like wolves eyeing a flock of sheep.

Both kids raise their hands to go out for the long pass, but then Siggy thinks better of it. "What if I run a six-step button hook, I can do a double-move if no one bites?"

"So then I'll run the go-route," Wulfanc chimes in.

"Sounds like we got a play." Grandpa grins and reaches into the center of their huddle, waits for them to place their dirty hands atop his. "Ready? Break!"

They shout "Break!" along with him and spread out down the line of scrimmage. Waneslowe takes it all in for a moment. The lawn is fresh cut and the sky is bluer than water in a painting. Up by the homestead, the neighbors are working a cookout fire and entertaining the infant. Bryna and Ulfane just welcomed their third child into the world a few months ago. Already she's strong and feisty and full of character, just like her siblings.

"Down, set," Waneslowe says as he tries to hunch forward like a proper quarter back. Mom's guarding Wulfanc, Dad has Siggy—life is perfect. "Red seven, hot-route, red seven."

"What's going on over there, Father?" Ulfane taunts. "You look a little pale. Not feeling very confident about the play?"

"He's probably just thinking about all the pots they'll be scouring til sunup," Bryna pokes as she follows her son across the formation.

"Hut one, hut two—" Waneslowe takes a last look at his grandchildren. "Hut, hike."

A strike of lighting bursts through his spine and suddenly he's on his back.

"Father?" Ulfane asks fearfully. "Honey, get the physician. Pauline, come take the children away. Get them away…"

The moment fades and soon he slips into a hazy unconsciousness.

When he's finally lucid again, Waneslowe is alone with Physician Lin. In the dozen years since being cured of Demic, they've worked together extensively to find something—anything that might lead to a treatment—but to no end. Lin is distracted by something on the screen before him, but he notices when his patient stirs.

"Welcome back, how are you feeling?" Lin begins, but does not expect an answer. "Your family is right outside, I'm just going to check your vitals then they're going to come in to say their goodbyes. But I wanted to thank you for everything you've done, and everything you have yet to do…" He trails off and has to wipe a tear or two from his eyes. "Your sacrifice will save lives. I cannot begin to express how many families—whole generations of Vanaheim—are in your debt. So, thank you, Mr. Blake, and I pray Odin guides your spirit back to the paradise of your realm."

'Waneslowe," he struggles to say breathlessly. "I am Waneslowe."

The family came and said their goodbyes, the Wrenheimr community and physician's staff stayed close at hand until he passed. Waneslowe donated his entire body to Physician Lin and his work on discovering a cure for Demic, in the event of his passing. It was why he wanted to play a game of touch football so badly before supper… Ulfane broke down and cried when he realized the magnitude of his father's sacrifice.

But the death of Waneslowe was not the end for Donald Blake.

He wakes to the crash of thunder, the brilliant illumination of a lightning strike and the whipping exhilaration of the rain in wind. "What is this?" Blake says and for the first time in over a decade he recognizes his own voice; the voice of Donald Blake. "Where are you, my Lady? I have returned."

"I am here, my champion returns to me." Nan'c, the Watcher, appears in the lightning. "And how is the manner of his return?"

"Judge me as you will." Blake is returned to his body and rises to meet his host. The rain sends tiny pin-pricks of cold into his skin, but the lightning pumps boiling heat through his veins. "I have learned much, and still have yet more to learn before I am worthy."

"That is why you are worthy, my champion." Nan'c takes a human form but her visage is of pure white light except the black in her eyes and mouth. "Raise your right hand."

He does and a strike of lightning lances out of the void to bind him, holding him still like on the end of a rope. Then the mighty hammer, Mjolnir of legend, swings into his grasp and the armor, helm and cape of Thor binds to his naked frame. The storm rages around him, filling him with warming, unstoppable presence.

"Take up the mighty hammer of the Aesir. The Grinder, the Storm-Forged, the Giant's-bane and mightiest tool in Odin's infinite arsenal. Take the mantle of Thor Odinson and protect this realm from any that might threaten it. Do you accept this charge?"

"I do." Thor says and the thunder crashes behind him.

"And will you be my brave avenger for this and every lifetime until the age of man falls?"

"I will."

"And shall you doff the mask of Donald Blake eternally, pledge your life and death to your family the Aesir and make the cosmos your new home?"

"I shall."

"Then go now, Thor, collect your allies and prepare, for the day of doom approaches."

An all-consuming flash of lightning turns the entire scene into a blank canvas before Thor's very eyes.

#

"Are you okay there, Mr. Blake?" The security guard asks and startles him.

The television before him reads "MVP—Missing Valuable Player" and the pundits are discussing Donny's failure to live up to expectations.

"Ha ha, not missing anymore, am I you beautiful son of a gun?" Donny leaps for joy then runs up to hug the guard. "I'm back in my body, baby!"

The guard smiles from confusion, mostly. "Is everything all right?"

"All right?" Blake grabs the man by his shoulders. "Better than all right. Come with me friend, we've adventures to go on!"

Dumbfounded, the guard follows along as Blake walks down the hall and out into the frigid, February in New Jersey night air. "Sir, you're not even wearing a shirt—" The man tries to warn him but it's no use.

"Come, friends of Midgard, I have something to show you all." Blake cuts through the throng of hyperactive press and paparazzi to the parking lot where he's given some space.

"Donny," a journo hazards, "looked like you had a tough night out there. Some people are wondering if you deserved to be MVP, care to comment?"

"Perhaps, they were right, once," he says then pauses to look to the heavens. A furious squall roils and turns overhead. Snow begins falling at a blistering rate. Claps of thunder and splashes of lightning fill the sky. He raises his hand high over his head and closes his eyes. "But then, I was not yet worthy."

A terrific flash of white-hot energy bursts through the clouds to hurl Mjolnir into Blake's palm. By the time his fingers close around the pommel, he is Thor from his head to his toe. He drops the weapon low by his side and swings it till it's rotating invisibly fast. Then, Thor lifts his arm high and flies off into the eye of the storm.

# The End #

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and please feel free to leave comments! If you enjoyed this, make sure you check out Volume 2—The Hulk!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and rating, this is part 1/3 of this origin story. Make sure you check out part 2!


End file.
